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JDJ Dragonridge
On most maps, the area is called “The Serpent Hills”, but many of the locals, especially the elderly, call them The Dragon Ridge or The Dragon Ridges. If you must locate this area, trace a finger west and a little north of Alaghon across your maps. Look for The Dragon Coast, The Dragonmere and finally you will see The Serpent Hills with The Serpent Tail Stream south and east of them, while The High Forest is North of them. The name The Serpent Hills is misleading. They are not quite hills, because they are too high, yet they are not quite mountains. Perhaps we should be more interested in the small populace of the area... ** Cool spring air, golden sunlight showing shades of green in trees and grasses, sparks of bright colors at the edge of the field of tame wheat, wildflowers peeking through other "weeds", adding their sweet sharp scents to the air. There are the cheerful chirps of various birds which create streaks of blurred color during short flights from tree to tree, Olive to Mulberry, Mulberry to Fir. The warble of a Lark adds to the melodies of the other Orns. There is a rustling of grass. The rustling catches her attention and she sees a small grayish brown shrew, busily about it's business. Near the shrew, ants are marching over small mounds of soil and stone beneath the grass. She is sixteen, somewhere between woman and child. She lies on the edge of a field of new wheat beneath one of the Mulberry trees on the edge of her stepfathers farm which adjoins to his fathers farm. The rows of trees had been planted as a windbreak for the fields and farmhouse when the father of her stepfather was very young. The green “wild” wheat growing under the shade of the trees is so soft on her bare back and legs. She pauses in reading the book she has borrowed without permission from her mother, looks up at the sheltering tree whose shade is spreading over her and the wild wheat with the setting of the sun. She is wishing it were berry time as she sees a Praying Mantis on one branch of the Mulberry, forelegs "washing" it's face and antennae. The spring breeze carries a hawk, high up over the wheat field to her left. The hawk soars and dips, gliding in lazy circles. She reaches to pet her Shepard who is curled beside her, he is panting in the warmth of the sun. She fantasizes that the hawk is actually a dragon, one of those creatures that had once populated this area before the time of troubles. Ah yes, so peaceful a scene. A slender girl, her long hair spilling over her nearly nude body, then spreading in the grass. If she were standing, that hair would reach past her knees and midway to her ankles. In the late fall the color of her hair would match the color of the ripe wheat were it not bleached lighter than normal by the sun. Light and shadow sprinkle moving cool shades and warm tints of color over her. All is peaceful here, on the surface, to the "sane" minds view of reality. There is, to her senses, violence all about her. It is her hawk that sweeps the sky above. She had found it nearly a year ago, perched at the top of the windmill, broken jesses on one leg. It was of a kind never seen before or since in that area, though obviously a raptor and large for a hawk. The girl trapped mice in and around the granaries of the farm, then offered the rodents to the bird, small bodies held by the tail. The large hawk flew to the bait, snatching eagerly. Little by little, over a period of weeks, the girl had approached the bird, eventually coaxing it to sit on her padded arm or shoulder. The family had attempted to find the owner of the bird by leaving notices at crossroads and asking passing tinkers and traders to pass the word on. Over that year no one had come to claim the hawk, and the girl became it's friend. She never caged it, for she felt that would be too cruel. Besides, she likes it that the bird comes to her of its own volition, whether she has meat for it or not. She loves the hawk. It has become as much a companion to her as her dog, sometimes riding on her wrist or shoulder. Farmers and travelers would see her with her animal companions following her wherever she went amid the fields and woods near her home. Just as they have done today. She looks up again from her book and suddenly the hawk folds it's wings and dives... The shrew finds a small field mouse, whose small shriek of terror barely carries over the soft whisper of the wind to the ears of the girl. In turn, the hawk strikes, and the voracious shrew joins the mouse as prey. The ants are at war with another ant hill. They battle and pillage one another, carrying the plunder of larva from one mound to another. The Praying Mantis leaps among the ants, and claims a soldier as provender. As the hawk has flown a short distance to feed upon the shrew, the Lark takes the opportunity to snatch the Praying Mantis, flying away in triumph. It is one of the last years of relative peace for Jenny "Gem" Dragonridge. She will soon kill a man. ** She found the body of the hawk in the same area that she had found the dog. Both the dog and now the hawk had been shot. For a moment, her shadow over the dead bird was that of a winged creature as the air thrummed with the beating of her heart and her coriaceous wings. The shadow resembled that of a “wyrmling”, a young dragon. She shifted again without thought, standing on two shaking legs and looked through her tears at the body of her feathered friend, and knew who had done this, and why. She had suspected who had shot the dog, though the person who had shot it had removed the arrows. But now she knew for certain. This time the killer of her hawk had not bothered to remove the shaft that had impaled the bird she loved even more than her dog. It is hard to describe how it feels to have a creature that is feral come willingly to you. Every time that hawk had come to her hand, arm or shoulder, Younger Jennys heart would seem to pound with the joy of it. And now that joy was dead. Her heart seemed to be barely beating, almost as dead as the bird. She was barely adolescent, and in deep trouble. It had taken all her courage to tell a few people of her situation. No one believed her, not even her mother, who knew the girl had never lied to her. Not even her brother, who despised their stepfather and normally would have believed anything said of him that smacked of evil. Young Jenny felt that she was, as usual, on her own during those days. Nothing new really. She could handle it. She would simply make sure that she was never again alone with Michael. Avoid those grasping hands and the mutterings, variations of: “So much like her, so beautiful.” Avoid the threats: “If you don't, I will make your life miserable.” She bent to pick up the hawk, its feathers and flesh were still warm to her touch, perhaps from the sun or perhaps because the kill was a fresh one. Its head lolled in a sickening way, its legs and feet dangled aimlessly as its wings drooped helplessly. Dully, Young Jenny noticed that most if its larger wing and tail feathers were missing. She buried her hawk beside her dog, under the Mulberry trees. She prayed that the souls of both creatures would "go on" and be reborn, but she also wondered if the prayer would do any good. Prayer had not seemed to ever be any help to her. But, it couldn't hurt to try tugging at the sleeves of the Gods in behalf of her small friends. Could it? She had saved back the arrow used to slay her hawk, thinking to make one more try at exposing this man... and angrily accused her stepfather of the killing. He denied it with a smirk, saying that anyone might have recovered an arrow lost by him, though admitting that he recovered nearly all arrows he fired. Young Jenny accused Michael of “Drawing the Long Bow...” a phrase with two meanings, one literal and one figurative. “To draw the Longbow.” also meant “To lie.” Michael just shrugged. “Even if I had done the deed, it was just a bird.” ** Jenny Fletcher, formerly Jenny Wmilvelmewva or Jenny Dragonridge, sat with her twins and her younger nieces in a meadow. The nieces were preteen triplets, children of Jennys deceased sister Arlene. Apparently, multiple births run in Jennys linage. The children were making wreaths of wildflowers while the adults were shelling pecans that everyone had spent the day gathering. Nearly as many pecans went into everyones mouths as did those that went into the rough waxed bags brought with them to hold the shelled nuts. Dappled horses were nearby, their legs loosely hobbled that they might graze and drink from a nearby spring. Each of the children and young adults was wearing a wreath of bright varicolored autumn wildflowers crowning long, long hair. Jenny laughed as she ducked away from the wreath that one of her nieces was attempting to crown her with. Jennys hair was of the iridescent black that makes one think of grackles and ravens, while her skin was overlaid with a copper sheen. Her daughter has matured quickly, at least in a physical way. The slender body of only two seasons ago now had her mothers curvaceous build and general facial features. There was nothing delicate about either woman though both were and are beautiful in their way. High cheekbones, large eyes and generous lips set in faces not quite square, not quite rectangular. Firm jaws and neatly square chins made them look rather grim when they failed to smile, but they smiled and laughed often when away from their farmhouse. The twins had made a kind of joke of the given name of their sire, which they knew to be Vaslaanela, meaning: “Gemstone” in Elvish. Broken into Vas, Elven for “gem” and laanela for “stone”. In order to avoid confusion, everyone called Jennys daughter of the same name: “Young Jenny” or “Gem” and her son “Stone” or “Stoney”. The coloring of Young Jenny or Gem is that of her sire. Light golden blonde hair, eyes a blue that varies in hue depending on her mood or surroundings, skin that barely tans and burns easily. Jennys son has his mothers darker coloring and his fathers body, lean and wiry, though his height must have been inherited from his Human bloodlines because he was still growing and looked as if he would be more than six feet tall someday. Jennys nieces have the same hair and skin tone as their aunt. As they wove wreaths to crown each others heads, there had been a great deal of giggling and comparing of skin tone, eye and hair color, each admiring the other with a tinge of envy. No one ever seems to be entirely happy with that which Goddess gifts them. When the sun began to set, each one gathered up their belongings and assisted with loading everything into the saddles and baskets on the horses. Jenny Dragonridge, her blonde hair nearly white from the sun beating on it all summer, was honored by being allowed to ride beside Jenny Fletcher. One of the nieces, Florine, was mounted behind the elder Jenny, her slim tanned arms clutching Jennys silver belted waist. Stoney was behind Darlene, holding the child in place as he rode. Lorene rode behind the Younger Jenny also known as Gem. Three overloaded horses and six riders, yet they held a good pace in order to reach the home of the grandparents of the triplets before nightfall. The same set of oldsters were the stepgrandparents of the twins, Stoney and Jenny the Younger. The girl behind the elder Jenny was in a blissful state of mind. Quiet, stoic Jenny had always been kind to the girl and her sisters. The girl tucked her head against Jennys soft, velvety, russet toned shirt. They swayed to the rhythm of the horse's stride as it picked its way in file through first the meadow and then the trees, hooves coated with the iron-rich red dust of the wooded hills. Raven hair drifted and twined with the pale blonde tresses of mother and daughter; who were riding close beside one another as the breeze played about them. The metal of the horses gear made small bell-like tones in the gathering twilight, not unlike Fairy music. There was the smell of burning hickory with a hint of pork in the air, though there was not much in the way of signs of habitants in the area. Someone was smoking meat. By the time the horses crossed the fields abutting the woods and arrived at the farm cabin, it was dark out, and they were greeted on the porch by the grandfather, his lamp in hand, pipe clenched between his teeth. He cursed around the pipe, his vituperation aimed primarily at the elder Jenny for arriving a little later than expected. Jenny waited patiently throughout the diatribe, stone faced, until the old man ran out of breath. Jenny noticed that a horse was missing from the corral and asked if her husband Michael, who had declined to go nutting with all those children in tow, had returned to their home. She was told by Mother Fletcher that Michael had gone to Dragon Gore village. The twins and their mother know what that means. Depending on what time Michael arrived home, he would be either dangerously drunk or so drunk he could hardly walk. He would rant about how hard it is for a Human man to be married to a woman with Half Elven children. The names people call him, his woman, and his stepchildren. Children sired by a damned Elf. It is true that, in this area at least, the children of such unions are seldom accepted by either race. Jenny's son had been thrown off of the slab rock porch of his own grandfather, and called names, just because he existed. The twins were barely tolerated by their own kin. Even granting that they are not directly related, still it is a difficult situation at best. The coloring of the twins might have been right but their bloodlines were not and no amount of covering for their slightly pointed ears will hide what they are from the people who have known them and their mother all their lives. They were and are, at best, trash in the eyes of the Humans in this area. Jenny silently assisted the brunette girl to climb down from behind her, then wheeled the horse around so sharply, the horse sunfished for a few moments. She finally got the horse back under control, then headed for her and Michael's cabin, her twins galloping after her. She knew that it was likely she would be beaten again by her husband who could not truly accept her past. Not even grandmother Fletcher really accepted Jenny anymore. This from a woman who was once both a friend and a confidant of Jenny before she became an Elven mans “whore”. And Jenny blames herself in a way. She had cried once at the wrong time and her present husband, Michael, had never forgiven her for continuing to grieve after so many years. ** Gems stepfather made extra gold pieces in the wintertime by making and fletching arrows. This had been a family custom for generations. The elderly of the family said that at one time they were not farmers, but makers of arrows in a city far to the south, its name lost to time but the family name continued. The name given to a person is often because of their place of birth or trade or craft. Everyone in the family assisted Michael with this small side business. The cheaper arrows were plainly fletched and of any sort of light, somewhat flexible, but strong branches of various lengths. There was a room behind the kitchen hearth where materials for making the arrows and the final products were stored. Rows and rows of arrows meant for every sort of bow and every sort of purpose were stored there in various containers. The more expensive arrows were custom fletched with feathers in colors matched to the future owners and their bows. This was done for many reasons, one of them being that if there was a large hunt, birds and animals could be easily claimed by the hunter whose arrow had struck it. As a kind of advertisement, everyone in the family had arrows that were custom fletched. Michael fletched his personal arrows in white eagle feathers on shafts of bleached yew. His wife fletched hers with black on black. Younger Jenny had arrows of blue on shafts tinted with wode. Her brother Stoney had gray on gray arrows. Everyone, with the possible exception of Michael, dreaded the long winter. Michael worked on the arrows while steadily sipping ale. Eventually he would become too drunk to work on the arrows and then he usually stumbled off to bed. But sometimes he went to work on his family instead. He was often verbally abusive and sometimes physically violent, though the physical violence became less often as Younger Jenny and Stoney slowly became adults, better able and more willing to defend themselves. Older Jenny, their mother, had long ago given up fighting back. She might have fought longer or even left Michael if it were not for her children and a community that seemed to ignore or even approve of his actions. She had no support system. One morning Young Jenny had been ordered to clean and dust the storage room that was full of arrows of many kinds and stages of manufacturing. A dusty job and one that had to be carefully done. She had removed linen cloths from various storage bins and carefully dusted the delicate feathers, whether cut, whole or already fitted to arrows. She was more thorough than usual, daydreaming as she carried out the finicky task. Eventually she came to a quiver that had been made for all weathers, finely made and waxed. It was tucked far behind larger containers. She did not recognize it, did not recall ever seeing it in the room before. Curious, she untied the top of the quiver and opened it. When she saw the unique feathers of her murdered hawk that had been used to fletch those arrows, she vomited over a bin of some of the best arrows. Afterwards, she stood weakly and then shoved that nauseating quiver full of arrows back where they had been. She went to her mother and claimed illness, something she must have eaten had caused her to ruin a great many arrows. Her stepfather had raged but for once did not beat anyone. ** Sometimes Young Jenny, called Gem, hated the father that she had never seen. As far as Young Jenny was concerned, Vaslaanela had left her mother and his unborn children in dire circumstances. Her mother seldom spoke of Vaslaanela any longer, certainly not around Michael and his family, yet she still practiced speaking Elven with her children, almost as a ritual. Sometimes Gem wondered if somewhere in her mothers mind, she thought that if she and her children spoke Elven, perhaps her beloved would return. When she and her brother were very small, her mother would sit by their cots and tell stories of her Elven love. Vaslaanela this, your father Vaslaanela that. How handsome, brave, kind, romantic... and on and on the tales would go. A Ranger and follower of Shaundakul, Vaslaanela rode the wind indeed. Before meeting Jenny he had been an explorer and a seeker of lost Temples of Shaundakul. He had settled for a short time on the Dragon Ridge in a small grove near the base of a peak. There he had built a small cabin and at first used it as little more than a campsite while exploring the area. He had been drawn to the area because of a rumor that the caves there had a network of large tunnels and vast caverns that had been breeding grounds for Copper and Brass Dragons. Not only that, but it was purported that a Temple to Shaundakul had also been built in a vast cavern at the heart of that network. He felt that the rumors were probably pure rot, caverns being a poor location for a Temple dedicated to a wind walking God, but he also felt that it was his duty as a follower of Shaundakul to do his best to either debunk that legend or possibly find that Cavern Temple. The village of Dragons Gore had and probably still has a joke told about it by anyone who travels there for any reason. The joke goes variations: “If you ride a fast horse through it and blink just before the first house on they way through, you won't realize you have ridden through a village.” Some situations and the jokes about them are timeless and void of geography. Mostly an excuse for an Inn and a few Merchant Stalls that cater to wayfarers and the occasional fair held by farmers in the area, Gore is truly a one blink village. It was on a visit to one of those Merchants that Jenny met Vaslaanela who was purchasing a few items in replacement of worn equipment that he could not make for himself. According to Jenny, it was love at first sight for the both of them. Younger Jenny, as she grew older, sometimes speculated as to why an Elf could possibly be interested in a Human female. Stoney would just snort and say something like: “LOOK at our mother! Her personality may have changed some, Michael and the people of Dragon Ridge have probably worn away at who she was originally, but LOOK at her. It has been nigh eighteen years since our father disappeared and she is still beautiful!” Younger Jenny would look, yet other than the difference in coloring, she would see an older and slightly more rounded version of herself... and not see the beauty in her mother, because Younger Jenny did not think of herself as beautiful. When the twins were small, Jenny would tell the tales of the courtship between herself and Vaslaanela, a glow on her face that was not just the reflection from the hearth and the twins would listen raptly. The courtship that lasted a little over a year between Vaslaanela's explorations of the mountain. The courtship had lasted almost a year more past the tying of the bond cords on their wrists. The courtship that ended. A very abrupt or very long ending, depending on a persons viewpoint. Jenny told the story of the end of the courtship only once, and through tears. Jenny and Vaslaanela had lived in that tiny cabin at the base of the mountain in a kind of bliss that she found difficult to describe to small children and yet she succeeded to a degree. Then one early spring morning Vaslaanela had decided that it was time to explore again, search for those caverns again. He had “kissed” her good-bye and then disappeared up a path between the green and umber shadows of the woods, heading towards the peak ... and never returned. Jenny told the twins of how she had waited as his last kiss grew in her belly, every day peering into those glooming trees, listening for a cheerful whistle floating on the wind. It was at the end of this one time telling of Vaslaanelas leaving and disappearing that the child Jenny had looked up and seen her stepfather standing in the doorway, witnessing the elder Jenny, his wifes emotion as she spoke the words of loss through her shaking, tear smeared hands. A look of red and purple thunder formed on Michael's face. That night, Michael's emotional and physical beating of Jenny and her children began, and though the bedtime stories of Vaslaanela ended that night, the beatings never really stopped. ** One day, Michaels mother was speaking to a guest over tea, and was overheard by Jenny and her children as they had unexpectedly and quietly arrived for a visit. The two Jennys and Stoney were not deliberately eavesdropping but moved quietly out of habit, always attempting not to draw unwanted attention to themselves. And nearly any attention was negative towards them. Grandmother Fletcher spoke of how she had told Michael where Jenny and her Elven husband had settled. Michael had later gone hunting in late autumn on that mountain, testing a new bow along with a new quiver full of his self-made arrows, when he happened across the small cabin as he came back down. Jenny was tending a small vegetable garden, kneeling awkwardly over her already big belly while weeding. She was looking up every once in awhile at an overgrown path, her head cocked into the wind; as if listening for something more than the sound of the wind, stray hairs floating about her face. Michael had known Jenny as they grew up together, so he recognized her even though she was disheveled and he had not seen her in more than a year. “He knew and loved her before she met that damned Elf and then knew and loved her even though she was huge with that damned Elfs tainted lust. Loved her enough to wait five long years, taking care of her and those pups of hers, until she had to admit that the Elf was never going to return for whatever reason and he convinced the local Clerics to declare the fool Elf to be dead. Loved her enough to marry her, even after she refused to give those tainted twins up! Loved her enough to concede to her request that they not move from that small cabin, so he simply built more rooms onto it and cleared enough forest to adjoin his farm to his fathers. A hard working and ambitious man is my son Michael!” The first time the twins heard the first version of that first sentence, they had no idea what “lust” was. Over the years and hearing the many the variations on the theme of Michael finding Jenny pregnant and in a bad way, nearly starved and yet clinging to that small cabin as if it were an anchor, they managed to figure out what “lust” might be. Stoney more so than Young Jenny. Stoney had grown into an extremely handsome young man. Despite all the manure crammed down his throat by nearly everyone around the Dragon Ridge mountains, he was a cheerful man, walking with pride and confidence. He could catch and then gently break the wildest horses, then ride them in all sorts of competitions, from racing with or without a saddle or reins, to roping beasts from his position on the horse, to simple maneuvers or fancy work involving being all over that horse in every position imaginable. Whether standing on the back of the horse or clinging to one side of it while shooting a bow at a target, he always won whatever the competition was. He taught his twin sister some of his skills, but compared to her brother she was barely adequate at them. And he was popular with the ladies. Very popular. He had winning ways in any competitions involving either horses or women. The only time he was cautious with horses was at night and then primarily because of his concern for the wellbeing of the horse. But he never seemed to pull in his reins when competing for the ladies and this caused him a great deal of trouble with the males around the entire Dragon Ridge area. More than once he had come home wounded, sometimes seriously, from fights with jealous males, Human and Elven. Both Jennys, elder and younger, tended his wounds while chiding him to be more careful in his selection of women to court. Stoney would just laugh, painfully and bitterly. “The men would still try to kill me even if I courted the ugliest, oldest, most unwanted single woman in all of Faerun, whether she had friends and relatives or not! I'm a Goddess damned Half Elf!” And then, nearly every time, he would warn Young Jenny to beware of the attentions of any man of any race.. “... because they simply will NOT have 'honorable intentions' with a female Half Elf!” One night, hurt worse than usual and dosed with a strong pain killer, he admitted that some of those fights had not been simply because of his courtship of a female, but that sometimes those fights started over lewd remarks made about his mother and /or sister. The two Jennys both washed his wounds with boiled water and their tears. ** On the evening before the twins eighteenth birthday, Elder Jenny seemed to almost deliberately pick an argument with Michael. When Michael raised his hand to strike Jenny, Michael suddenly found Stoney between himself and Jenny. Staring down at the older man, Stoney said quietly, between clinched teeth: “You had best not do that.” The older man paled for a moment, then turned on his heel and slammed out of the cabin, grabbing his hat and pouch of gold pieces along the way. As soon as the door slammed behind Michael, Jenny pushed the piece of timber used to bar the door into the slotted arms on each side of the door and then calmly prepared a special meal. After eating, she went to a loose board in the wall beside the stone hearth that the twins had never noticed in all their years of exploration of their environment. Jenny gave each of the twins gifts. Some of her gifts were handmade and might have seemed modest to most people, but the twins knew that Michael kept tight purse strings. For years he confiscated and kept any earnings of either of the Jennys in his own pocket. He had been the same with Stoney until one day Stoney had baulked and a fist fight had erupted between the two men, the one young, growing wiry and strong, the other aging and growing a paunch. Stoney had won the fight and the right to keep his own money. He had also insisted that the two women should have a right to at least half of their own earnings: “Even a Cleric of Waukeen tithes only twenty-five percent and that goes to their GODDESS! They work as hard as you and deserve some say in what is paid from your coffers!” Oddly enough, the gifts were weapons. Younger Jennys was a Mace, with a well oiled pouch and a cleverly crafted lid that released when the mace was drawn by snapping the short cord on the handle of the mace. Elder Jenny showed Younger Jenny how to pull the cord sharply then “jerk and snap” the handle of the mace into her palm. Both twins eyes were huge when they realized that their mother was not as defenseless as they had thought. Stoney received a beautifully made longsword with a finely crafted scabbard and matching quiver. “The mace and longsword were once those of your father and myself. I'm afraid the sword was his spare, not as good as the one he usually used. I crafted the sheath, mace pouch and quivers for you. Also, I have arranged for a master of arms to teach the two of you how to do battle. You will be spending at least two years in Baldur's Gate under his roof and his tutelage. This has not been an inexpensive thing to save for, so you will also be doing any menial work he asks of you to help cover the cost. Later you might also be teaching beginning students for him. You will return here for visits of about a month each year, around early springtime.”And so it was. While in Baldur's Gate, Younger Jenny developed an interest in the Goddess Waukeen. She had some reservations about the tenets of the faith, but truly liked the idea that wealth can be used to accomplish many good and great things. On her days away from the weapons master, she studied under a Priestess of Waukeen and was seriously tempted to become an acolyte of the Goddess. She studied not only the tenets of the faith but learned a great deal about healing and herbs. Under the tutelage of the Weapons Master, Jenny found that she preferred a scimitar over a mace. Whenever possible, Younger Jenny wandered the wilderness not so far from Baldurs Gate because she was far more comfortable there than in the city. There in the forests, she met a small grove of Druidesses who taught her reverence for Mielikki as well as much of their craft. They not only accepted her ability to shift from one form to another, but assisted her in learning to control that shifting. Stoney seemed to have no interests other than women, horses, boozing, bar fights and women. Two years after first leaving home and a fortnight after the twins returned home to Dragon Ridge for their annual visit, there was a dance celebrating a minor local holiday at an Inn not far from the cabin they had been born in. The next morning, Stoney and his favorite horse were found smashed at the base of a cliff. Stoneys body reeked of alcohol, but then so did that of the horse. The cliff was on a well tended roadway, it had been a full moon on a route well known by both Stoney and the horse. The people at Stoneys funeral seemed to be divided into two primary factions. Women, including the two Jennys, who wept copious tears inside the chapel while circling around the coffin, and men who were quietly drinking ale outside and behind the small chapel. About half way through the services, Younger Jenny felt a little faint. It all seemed so unreal. So she stepped out of the chapel intending to go for a short walk in the woods behind it for a breath of fresh air. Stepping quietly, her head down, she was brought up short by the laughter of the group of men and recognized the coarse cackle of Michaels. As she edged to the corner of the building and peered around that chipped stucco facade, she caught Michael raising a tankard of ale in a toast and cheerfully saying: “To fast chases in high places with ropes tied to trees at the right height for catching an Equine about the legs. And here is to Elves stupidly trusting old friends of their soon-to-be-widow!” Then there were laughs, cheers and jeers amid much clanking of tankards filled from the large keg that was on the back of a cart drawn by two huge horses, one black the other white. Young Jennys eyes had gone out of focus for a moment. Her breathing seemed to have stopped after one sharply drawn breath. For a moment she was as a statue, though dizzy... later she would remember every particular. Every mans face around that of her stepfathers. She would even think of the way the tails and manes of the horses had been braided and beribboned in a bright arterial red, the feathers around their hocks neatly combed. Details, details. It seemed like forever, but it could have only been a few moments before Young Jenny carefully and silently turned and went back into the chapel. Her face was grim and pale, not a tear fell from that moment on, not even when her beloved brother was lowered into his cold and stoney grave. ** That night Michael had passed out in the large bed shared by her mother. The farm had been quite profitable in the last few years and Michael had finally allowed a little in the way of good furnishings in that cabin. Young Jenny stayed up with her again grief stricken mother until the moon was high. As the wind moaned in tune with the Elder Jenny, she prepared a tea that was potent with an herb guaranteed to put her mother into a long and dreamless sleep. She propped a pillow under her mothers head as she eased the limp body into a prone position on the chaise lounge. Sitting on the floor, the fully aware blonde girl stroked the dark hair of the comatose woman as Young Jenny gave herself time to think through her options. Any accusations against Michael and his cronies that she might make to whatever passed for the law in this region would probably be useless, might even endanger her mother as well as herself. Too much of what she could testify to might be taken as her misunderstanding what she seen or heard. Those laughing men behind the funeral chapel would almost assuredly testify on behalf of her stepfather, so it would be the testimony of one Half Elven girl against numerous Human adult males. Softly stroking the older womans hair with her left hand, thinking of what sort of future the two of them would have if she did nothing, her right hand strayed to the knife sheathed at the back of her belt. She withdrew the knife, selected a long strand of the older womans raven tresses, and cut it at the base of her scalp. Arising from the floor, Young Jenny took the hair over to the kitchen table and carefully laid out the strand horizontally, putting the knife beside it. She then gathered her own hair in a club at the nape of her neck. Holding the hair in place, she picked the knife back up and used it to saw at her own hair, cutting it just below the left fist holding it. A ragged cut, but it might be trimmed more neatly later. She laid the long blonde tresses over the raven, then braided them together, thinking: “It's too bad I don't have time to make a bowstring of part of this, it would be so appropriate. But if I wait too long I might loose my courage and resolve.” She went to her mothers leather jacket and cut two leather strips off of the fringed sleeve. Picking up her backpack by the door she returned to that table by the hearth, tied the ends of the braided hair together, then coiled it up and carefully tucked it in oiled linen from the backpack and placed the hair in a side pouch of the pack. She then pulled papers, quills, a sharp knife and a bottle of ink from another side pouch. She had used these supplies once in awhile when in Baldur's Gate to write to her mother and tell a slightly cleaned version of her and her brothers activities. Young Jenny sat on a rough kitchen chair and wrote a letter to her mother. She told of what she had seen and heard behind the funeral chapel, then finished with: “Should anyone accuse you of wrongdoing, show them this missive. Know that after the Dawn, you will be able to watch that old overgrown path and remember your Vaslaanela without anyone looking over your shoulder and judging your need to hear a cheerful whistling in the wind. Someday I might be able to return, but at least and at last, Michael will no longer draw the longbow.” She sat for a moment longer, then placing the writing materials back in her pack, she went to the small room filled with arrows. She found the quiver of arrows that had been fletched with the feathers of the hawk she had loved a few years ago, then hidden away like a guilty lie. Fine arrows made straight and true for a longbow, capped with sharp hunting points, large enough to kill at least a big dog. She returned to the kitchen, picked up her backpack and then went to the small cubicle that had been her half of the room shared by her and her twin. After she packed a few things and changed her clothes, she went to her brothers half of the room. Young Jenny sat quietly for a long time on her brothers bed, smelling the scent of him on the linens until the hint of sunrise lightened the walls slightly. A little later than usual, she heard the farmer Fletcher cursing over suffering a cold breakfast after failing to awaken his wife. She heard him rustling around in the kitchen. Heard him then stagger slightly and knock over a chair as he slammed the door behind him as he trudged out of the cabin to feed his animals and then go to work in the fields. Young Jenny waited until she was certain her stepfather was in his fields and then went back to her mother in order to kiss her lightly on the forehead while stroking her hair one last time. Straightening with a sad sigh, she picked up her things one at a time. She buckled on the baldric of the longsword that had once been her fathers and then her brothers, sheathed it to her right side so that she might draw it with her sinister hand. She buckled her mothers mace to her left hip, then shrugged the belt of the quiver over one shoulder, her long bow over the other. Picking up her pack, she quietly left the cabin, went to the barn and saddled one of her brothers horses, one she trusted to behave well, yet which was also very fast. She slung her packs over the horse behind her brothers best padded blanket, made especially for riding. The padded blanket was strapped in two places by large leather belts, the one in front having an attached metal horn with a loop in the middle. She mounted and leaning forward she made small chirping noises into the horses ears as she guided the animal towards the fields. She tied one end of a rope around the small metal horn topped with a metal loop, then draped the reins across the horses mane as her brother had innovated. Guiding the horse with thighs, knees, ankles, and heels along with the slightly swaying movement of her body and the small clucks and whistles in the ways her brother had taught her, she brought the longbow around and drew one of the arrows fletched with the feathers of her slain hawk. Michael saw her coming. He must have realized not only by her drawn bow but by her stone faced expression that he was in trouble. He ran for his sword and longbow that were stored with his lunch under one of the Mulberry trees. Careless of him, leaving them there, she thought as Young Jenny lightly kicked the horse with her heels, urging the animal to gain speed, while at the same time using one knee and the leaning of her body to change the animals direction slightly in order to block Michaels path. The willing horse knocked Michael to the ground. Michael tried to roll away as hooves were prancing all about his head and body. Jenny sidled the horse to a position between Michael and his weapons. “Lie still!” She commanded. He reluctantly did so and then there was a terse one-sided conversation. She told him what she knew, ordered him to stand up and then to stand still when he staggered to his feet. She then threw the looped end of the rope around his torso despite his attempts to evade that tightening noose. Three long days later they reached the Marshlands of the Chelimber. Michael had been barely able to stand by then. He had five arrows in him when his weighted body slowly sank into the wet muddy quicksand. One for each of those whom she had loved in different ways and to different degrees. One for her living and loving mother, who she would probably never be able to see again. One for her dead dog, one for her slain hawk, one for her murdered brother and one for an Elven man she had never loved, but might have if she had been allowed to know him. When the bubbles ceased, she sat there while the sun sank over the horizon. As the moon began to rise she chirped softly, leaned slightly to one side and turned the dappled horse away from that unmarked grave of sand, mud and foul water. It was a long time before she paid any attention to what direction she was going, because she had no idea where she was going. All she knew was that she would keep an eye out for any indication of an appropriate place to lay three bundles of flowers as offerings. One for the Goddess of Nature, Mielikki. One for an old God, Shaundakul. and one for an Elven male named Vaslaanela; who once upon a time had cheerfully whistled in the wind as he unknowingly left his family forever. A family in the form of a freshly kissed and impregnated Human woman named Jenny. When Young Jenny finally found such a site and laid the three bundles of flowers down in offering, she could have sworn that she heard a cheerful tune being whistled over the wind. Jenny smiled for the first time in weeks. “Were you a shape shifter also, I wonder?” she asked of the spirit she sensed in the wind. There was no answer from the wind as it died away with a soft sigh. Jeanie D'Jinni ~ July 12, 2006. Revised February 24, 2009 "The difference between fiction and reality? Fiction has to make sense." -Tom Clancy "Beware of faking:people will believe you." - Umberto Eco, Focault's Pendulum In memory of: Jenny – My full-blood Cherokee aunt. Robert – My incredibly handsome and humorous cousin, killed for being “...too friendly with the white girls.” Jennys son. Jenny – MIA, Jennys granddaughter. Some names have been changed or deleted to protect the guilty. In Medieval times / the Middle Ages, “Drawing the Long Bow...” really was a phrase with two meanings, one literal and one figurative. “To draw the Longbow.” also meant “To lie.”